


The Purpose of Growth, or A Light in Dark Places

by Dangersocks



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:55:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Dangersocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place after KivrinEngle's epic where Gandalf learns that Smaug, in captivity, is still dangerous...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Purpose of Growth, or A Light in Dark Places

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KivrinEngle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivrinEngle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Sons of Durin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/623138) by [KivrinEngle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivrinEngle/pseuds/KivrinEngle). 



> Earlier this year The Sons of Durin took up a lot of my time. And it was wonderful. I don't often look at someone else's work and have the thought to physically add to it, but while I was cleaning garbage cans one afternoon (oh glamourous job of glamourous jobs) I was hit with the dialogue of what Smaug and Gandalf would have to say at the end. And that, my friends, was that. 
> 
> I furiously burned my way through the remaining hour of my honest job, and then sat in my car scribbling as much as I could remember from their conversation. I quit when I could do no more, drove most of the way home and then resumed writing in the parking lot of an art museum. Then I put it together in a story and fired off a message to KivrinEngle because I had no idea what protocol was in regards to stepping into someone else's story. Fanfic based on fanfic...
> 
> But KivrinEngle was encouraging. So there we have the story of this, which is remarkable in that I have never had such inspiration happen to me before. I'm honoured to have the chance to add to Kivrin's world, and If you haven't read The Sons of Durin, please do. It's worth your time.

 

“Ah, Gandalf. You’re late.”

The voice was low, and smooth. It spoke with a cadence that didn’t seem to mind when or if the sentence finished. It could draw on forever, holding out the “Ahhh” for further consideration. He spoke words that strolled without effort through endless planes of one’s mind.

Gandalf had forgotten this.

He stared at the man not five feet away and remembered again why even he should be wary.

Smaug, in captivity, was still dangerous.

The man was as tall as Gandalf, though the detective often caught himself falling unconsciously into old habits of stooping and shrinking into himself. He reminded himself that he didn’t need to hide anymore and stood comfortably level with the other man.

The prisoner.

Smaug’s hair was getting curly, and lay dark on his head accenting the creases under the man’s eyes. They made his gaze seem wider and more encompassing. The orange suit fit him impeccably, and his posture was chiseled. He looked like he owned the small white space around him.

As well he should, Gandalf figured. Smaug deserved that cell.

As Gandalf looked over Smaug and his setting, he knew that the other was weighing his visitor as well. Smaug would see the trimmed beard and the modest, yet maintained casual clothes of an officer with experience and no need for professional appearance. A dusty brown messenger bag was strung casually across Gandalf’s shoulder, sagging with some weight. The colours clashed in light, muted tones—a layman stood before Smaug, more comfortable with conversing the little people than having formal meetings with former politicians.  “It doesn’t befit you to be late,” Smaug drawled in an easy tone that appraised Gandalf and found him close to lacking.

Gandalf tilted his head slightly, unmoved. “It was you, Smaug, who set the time for this appointment. Did they forget to give you a clock in this place?”

Smaug shook his head slowly and tutted. “It’s been months, Gandalf. I expected a visit some time ago.”

“I have had no reason to speak with one such as yourself, Smaug,” the detective warned. “You refused to speak with Galadrial and that is why I have come.”

Smaug hummed, rocked back on his heels and stared at the top of the polished bars of his cell. “Galadrial lacks a certain pertinence with the issue, I’m afraid. Not like you, though, Gandalf. You’re very much involved. Is Galadrial still bailing you out of trouble? It must have been nice to have her on the phone asking you for a favour for once. You’re welcome, of course.”

Gandalf repressed a twitch. If Smaug wanted to play games he may find it was not wise to play against Gandalf. “You speak as if you still have a say in things, Smaug. You’re a little out of touch here in your cell.”

Smaug cleared his throat and shifted, allowing Gandalf a greater view of the space behind him. White painted bricks, a cot, and a desk. Very few possessions beyond two books and a memo pad. “Yes, there’s not a lot I own here, I’m afraid.”

He didn’t sound as if this bothered him.

Smaug picked up a book Gandalf couldn’t identify, and thoughtfully said, “there’s a certain elegance in the simplicity of having so little. One can lose everything and still bear themselves with dignity.” He put the book down gently. Then smiled a more natural smile. It came across as predatory. “Funny no one told Thorin about that, all those years ago.”

Careful, Gandalf warned himself. “Thorin and his family are doing very well for themselves.”

“Indeed,” Smaug rolled his head over his bright orange shoulders. He seemed to be leisurely expanding his presence in his cell as he spoke. “I imagine they are doing just fine. And they all lived happily ever after until the end of their days. Oh Gandalf, if you believed that you wouldn’t have come here. You’d have retired to your small little enterprise and never looked back on me.”

“What do you know, Smaug?”

Dark eyes redirected themselves onto Gandalf instantly. “You’re so suspicious, Gandalf. If that happy ending did exist, could you even then leave things alone?”

Gandalf heard in his head his director’s voice—Saruman warning him that his meddling would grow out of hand. Something bothered him then, but with Smaug staring holes into his defenses, Gandalf shook the thought aside as he pulled a folder from the messenger bag he wore. The bag had been a gift from Fili, and it held a file that was full of writing in margins—Gandalf and Galadrial’s thoughts and suspicions. Some of the loose pages were worn over, having been reworked many times. Smaug watched him with vague interest.

“You had help, Smaug,” Gandalf held the pages reverently, as if they brought him strength to make such accusations. “You’re clever and resourceful, but the scope, the size of your enterprise, no…even you would require backers for much of it.”

The prisoner cocked his head and belied nothing but a raised brow. “Do continue.”

“The ability to manipulate the media and some of the police, I’ll give that to you. And my days underground proves what Smeagol knew about your connections to certain criminal elements. You may have even been able to buy Spider, but the men you brought to the mountain—many were from far afield and you don’t have that kind of pull with immigration. All the time and money that you’ve put into Beinn Chùirn doesn’t add up. Thorin’s mine had value, but not that much value. Why do this, Smaug? Even a personal grudge doesn’t justify your motive. You’re working for someone else, and while you’re locked away in here they’re doing nothing for you.”

Smaug nodded slowly, his face a mask. “A noble investigation, right there. Bravo, Gandalf. You haven’t lost your touch, following up on that instinct of yours. Why doesn’t Galadrial keep you around more closely?”

“Smaug…” warned the detective.

“And if I want something?” continued the prisoner. “For information, names, places, the whole damn plan?”

“It’s a given that you’ll be here for a long time, Smaug.” Gandalf explained. “Your sentence is not up for negotiation.”

Smaug shook his head and moved gracefully to the cot. “No of course not. Thorin would hate you for pulling any favours like that for me. Would he hate you for returning to me the Arkenstone?”

Gandalf frowned as Smaug dropped ceremoniously onto his bed. “And what use would you have for that?”

Linking his fingers behind his head, Smaug shrugged and eyed Gandalf with what was meant as honesty. “I have no use for it. Nor does he, now, all safe in his mountain. Do you think, though, for anything, he’d still part with it? Is it even a healthy obsession he has with it? It’s a rock. For the greater good, Gandalf, could you remove the beloved Arkenstone from Thorin Oakenshield, now that he has everything he says he ever wanted, hmmm?”

Gandalf didn’t speak on this. Smaug had broached a few of Gandalf’s concerns regarding Thorin, but these concerns didn’t have a place being exhibited before Smaug.

“It wouldn’t be hard,” Smaug continued, taking the silence as an answer that pleased him. “If you’re wanting to avoid the unhappy argument, you could always hire out to a burglar and keep your own hands and reputation free. You’re good at finding those, aren’t you Gandalf?”

“You can’t have the Arkenstone, Smaug.” Gandalf’s growl offered no further negotiation.

“Yes,” sighed the prisoner with mock sadness. “I suppose using your thief wouldn’t work. He’s far too enamored to do anything to make Thorin unhappy. Heard he’s retired, started a family. Picked up a stray.”

Something in that last line caused Gandalf to tense. Predatory. And he realized that there was no way Smaug should know about Bilbo’s adoption of young Frodo. He felt himself transform into something cold and dangerous at the implications.

“I’ll warn you, Smaug. If I should choose, all of my energy will go towards guaranteeing that you shall never see the outside of that cell. There are still things that you can be tried for.”

Smaug looked interested now. He shifted on his cot to lean closer toward the bars. “Yes. Keep me here forever, I suppose. It’s especially sad that prison breaks are so uncommon these days. Not just any fool could pull it off. Best to stay on your good side. Tell me, Gandalf, would you have little Fili help you with destroying my eventual freedom? How are the lads doing, Gandalf? Staying out of trouble?”

It was difficult, not letting himself bristle. Gandalf snapped, “in spite of your best efforts, Fili and Kili are doing very well.”

“ _Our_ efforts, Gandalf. You can’t reasonably put all the blame on me. At any point, Thorin could have stopped this madness, instead of dragging children around in it. How many of his brothers lost their wives or livelihoods to that man? What kind of leader puts his pride before his family?”

Back to Thorin again, Gandalf noted. “I did not come all this way to pander about the past, Smaug. If you have information, name your price so that I may grant or deny it. If you are afraid of those you protect…”

Smaug interrupted Gandalf as he sat up and threw his long legs over the edge of the bed. “You still do not see this for what it is, Gandalf. This thing is a game. And it is a game you yourself have been very willing to entertain for years. Playing the homeless man and gathering a rag-tag world of allies. Kidnapping for the greater good. That’s your part, Gandalf. You’re unconventional but it’s all in the fight for good. You, and old Mr. Elrond who does it for duty, and shining Galadrial who does it for justice. It’s been marvelous, you pulling all the players together to help Thorin in his righteous vendetta against mean old, evil Smaug. But you know your side and you suspect that this is a game, so who are the other players, Gandalf? Hmmm? Who is on the other side? Who does Smaug protect if not himself?”

Smaug was more animated, now. His dark eyes wide and flickering.

“I promise you, Gandalf. I am but a simple, but greedy, Minister of the Environment. And what I’ve learned from my work is that Burnings do happen. And after everything burns, things grow. Things only sprout green and fresh after the tragedy of a burning. And they grow strong, and they grow brilliant and beautiful. And life returns, bigger and better than before. Do you know why, Gandalf? Do you know why you’ve tended these elements so faithfully, like a gardener; why you’ve guided them together and stepped back to allow them their own skills, talents and experiences to shine through?”

Gandalf felt weary. He felt old watching Smaug, watch him. He felt exposed. He said nothing.

“These things grow and grow strong to serve a purpose.” The teeth behind that mouth were very white. “They are kindling for the next burning.”

A noise from behind Gandalf signaled one of the police officers entering the room. Smaug flashed a smug yet apologetic smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Looks like visiting hours has concluded. A shame we couldn’t meet longer.”

Without a clock present, Gandalf felt certain that Smaug still had excellent timing.

_Ah, Gandalf. You’re late..._

Gandalf found that he was still holding the file between him and the prisoner. He lowered his gaze to return it to it’s bag. Already his mind was whirling aggressively. This interview had given him no new information, beyond the fact that Smaug had no interest in sharing anything—through fear or through reward. The talk had served as a warning to Gandalf, too. His fears were warranted. Smaug was getting information from somewhere and while his influence was non-existent, being trapped here, he still had confidence in something else.

Something…bigger.

He didn’t give Smaug the satisfaction of looking over his shoulder as he left, but the prisoner took the opportunity to call out, “I’ll be there, Gandalf. When it comes, I’ll be there. And so will you.”

He heard the door close loudly behind him.

Gandalf inserted the unspoken ‘will you be prepared?’ into the silence from Smaug’s words. Certainly, Smaug was prepared.

He closed his eyes and shrunk into a smaller, more familiar form—the old man. He didn’t mind the curious glance from the policewoman who waited on him.

Was he prepared?

No. The only acceptable answer would be that he would make himself ready before the time came. Gandalf honestly, really didn’t know.

He thought of Galadrial’s support. He could count on her, though he owed her so much already. He thought of Fili, who surprised him constantly as he worked under Gandalf. He thought of Kili too—both boys growing as persons on their own, slowly and unknowingly inching away from one another with Gandalf and Beorn’s help. They would help Gandalf, doing so with the enthusiasm and the energy of the terribly young. It was a commodity that Gandalf lacked, though they also brought so much more to lose. Already Fili and Kili had suffered so much during Smaug and Thorin’s war and Gandalf couldn’t allow himself to think of putting either of them through more of that. They deserved their lives and their chance to grow up free.

Gandalf thought of Thorin, at peace with his mountain. And not at peace. Inevitably, the fight would come back to him and Smaug had voiced a lot of Gandalf’s concerns with the man. Thorin would not relent, or let go, or step down in the face of anything. Gandalf could admit that this was admirable, but it was not always wise. It had already cost Thorin decades of stress and fear for his family. Smaug had reminded Gandalf that Thorin’s weaknesses were a vulnerable target. One anyone could exploit.

Feet heavy, Gandalf followed the officer through the prison. His thoughts were deep and unpleasant.

No, Gandalf wasn’t prepared to allow Thorin to fall again. To allow Thorin to take his beloved family down with him. To take his boys, and Gandalf, and any number of others…

Frodo. Smaug somehow knew about Frodo! Gandalf caught himself making a fist and forced himself to release it as the first windows appeared, shedding bright sunlight into the long halls of the prison.

The sun was blinding, and warm. The sounds at the entrance to the prison were natural and people spoke in voices that were kind and reverent to their location, or loud and alive. This prison no longer held the Sons of Durin. It held Smaug, tucked away where there was no real light and no voices save his own. And here, Gandalf was reminded of one small, unexpected hope.

He had nearly forgotten about Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, who would keep Frodo safe from any implied threat of Smaug’s. Who would keep Thorin grounded from any foolishness the man would be apt to repeat. And Bilbo, who had made an old detective have faith in the good things of the world—standing up against insurmountable odds without Gandalf’s help.

Dear, dear Bilbo.

Gandalf stepped out into the day feeling taller than when he had stood across from Smaug. Certainly, there was work to be done.

He found he had a craving for Chinese food. A grocer, once, had promised him a meal. Today was as good as any to take him up on the offer.

-End

 


End file.
